


the absence of everything

by everydayistuesday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not really relevant to the plot), Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester - Freeform, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, Dean Winchester has bad coping skills, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Found Family, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, No Smut, Pining, Post 15x19, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Song Lyrics, Taylor Swift fan Castiel, Temporary Character Death, Worried Sam Winchester, demi or gray ace castiel, mixtapes, the handprint, they are traumatized
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydayistuesday/pseuds/everydayistuesday
Summary: Cas is gone and he’s never coming back. The Empty said it would take him forever, and forever is endless, like the Cas-shaped hole in Dean’s life. There’s no getting him back. No way for him to hear those three words Dean never said. Dean knows this, the same way he knows that Cas’ death was his fault.And then suddenly, forever isn’t as endless as he thought it was. And maybe— just maybe— he can get Cas back.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	1. the absence of you

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most self indulgent thing I have ever written. It’s basically what you get when you mix invalidation from 15x20, far too many hours on tumblr.com, the what-if-Cas-made-Dean-a-mixtape question, destiel feels, and my concerning ability to relate with TFW.  
> I’ll put TWs at the beginning of chapters, but if there are any tags I’m missing, please let me know!  
> Updating once a week as of now.  
> TWs— Dean trying to cope via drinking, suicidal thought.

Dean was empty. 

  
He supposed that was fitting, in a way.

  
Dean hated it. He hated that he had been to angry to stop and think, he hated that  _ he _ had made that stupid deal, he hated that it was his fault  _ he _ was gone, he hated that  _ he _ left thinking it was all one sided, he hated that  _ he _ had thought it was okay to say something like that, and then leave, hated that it was Dean’s fault that Ca—

Dean forced the thought down. No. No, he wasn’t going to sit there and think about that day or the words that had come out of  _ his _ mouth and the ones that hadn’t been able to come out of Dean’s. Wasn’t going to think about how the nothingness had enveloped  _ him _ like a shell and pulled  _ him _ away from Dean. Wasn’t going to think about how he had done nothing. Or how  _ he _ had been smiling, wider that Dean had ever seen, happiest killing himself for Dean.

_“Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters,”_ _he_ had said once. 

_ Always happy to bleed for you, Dean,  _ was what  _ he  _ had really meant. 

Dean wished that wasn’t the case. 

Dean wished that he wasn’t so broken that bleeding was necessary. 

He took a swig from his glass. 

The whiskey burned his throat, but Dean wasn’t going to complain. At least he was numb now. 

Numb and empty. 

Fitting. 

Dean surveyed the bottle. About halfway gone. His glass was nearly drained as well. Within the half hour, he’d have to get another bottle. 

The last thing he felt like was moving, but he’d take that over thinking about Cas. 

Even with everything dulled by alcohol, the name still hurt like a punch to the gut. 

Cas, wearing his boxy trench coat even in summer. Cas, ocean eyes squinting as he tilted his head. Cas, slipping his angel blade from his sleeve. Cas, wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat because Dean insisted. Cas, watching the bees. Cas, smiling radiantly with tears streaming down his face. Cas, dead—

Dean took another long drink, then refilled his glass. 

Cas, dead because of him. 

It didn’t matter how you looked at it. Cas was dead because Dean had needed something to kill and couldn’t stop and think. Cas was dead because Dean had led them into Billie’s library only half cocked. Cas was dead because Dean was his true happiness. 

Almost two months later, Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around that. 

He was Cas’ happiness. 

Had the circumstances been different, he would have been over the moon. But now  _ he _ was dead for good, and it was because  _ he _ thought Dean was worth it. 

Cas deserved so much better than a fucked up hunter. Why couldn’t  _ he _ have seen that? 

Glass after glass of whiskey disappeared as the minutes ticked by. It had barely been a half hour when the bottle was completely empty. 

Dean stood, and the room spun a little. Good. That meant he was drunk. Not drunk enough, though, since there was still a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind that was whispering  _ Cas wouldn’t want this for you. Cas thought you were better than this _ . 

Fortunately, it wasn’t terribly far to the kitchen. He should be able to make it from the library to there. Then, he’d get some more whiskey or bourbon or anything strong that would let him forget. And that would be that. 

Leaning heavily against the wall, Dean made his way towards the kitchen.

Unfortunately, the way there led him right past Cas’ room. 

He wanted to keep stumbling forward. Pretend the room didn’t exist and pretend the door wasn’t ajar.

_ Whiskey,  _ Dean reminded himself.

Instead, he pushed Cas’ door the rest of the way open and stepped inside. 

The room was the same as he remembered. Barely any personal touches, just the plain beige sheets on the bed, the old dresser, and the older desk. A bulletin board had been hung up above the desk, where newspaper clippings were either hung up or strewn about without much organization. And on the desk’s corner—

Dean picked it up. The picture was in a simple metal frame. Nothing special at first glance. But inside the frame…. 

The two of them had been working a case in Arizona. A couple of ghouls that had gotten off their corpse diet in favor of live humans. Back in the motel after questioning one of the vic’s parents, Dean had said offhandedly, “You know, we’re not that far from the Grand Canyon. Probably about an hour or two. Actually, I’ve never seen it.” 

Cas had squinted at him from his bed. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve been all over the country.”

Dean shrugged, undoing his tie. “I mean, yeah. But Sam and I… just never got around to it, I guess.” 

“We should go,” Cas suggested. “After we’re done with this case.”

“There a reason we should go?” Dean asked. 

“You’ve never seen it,” Cas said simply. “I saw it once before, a few hundred years ago, but I didn’t think much of it. I think I would like it more this time, especially if I got to see it with someone.”

Dean couldn’t have stopped the grin that spread across his face. “If you wanna go, Cas, we’ll go.” 

Cas had smiled at him and nodded. 

It was three days later before they made it. 

It was worth it. 

Not just because of the limitless sky and the rich layers upon layers of rock that stretched to the canyon floor, but because of the enjoyment in Cas’ eyes, and the way Cas was talking about all the different types of rock he could see. 

As the sun had set, they’d gotten a couple to take a picture of them leaning against the hood of the Impala, the canyon behind them. Cas’ eyes had been soft and the light had played across his face. He was beautiful.

Dean had wanted to kiss him. He didn’t. 

He could have, and Cas would have kissed back. He knew that now.

Still holding the frame, Dean backed away from the desk and sat heavily on Cas’ bed. He put the frame face-down next to him and buried his head in his hands. 

What he would give, to go back to that moment, the sun caught in Cas’ hair, his lips turned upward in that small smile he reserved for Dean, alive and okay and together. 

He should get up. Go get that alcohol. Down a couple more glasses. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it was better than sitting in Cas’ room. 

Better than sitting in what  _ used _ to be Cas’ room.

Dean didn’t move for a long time. Even then, it was only to lay down. 

The pillow at the head of Cas’ bed was almost unused. It was stiff beneath Dean’s head, and he didn’t know why he’d been hoping that maybe some of Cas’ scent had stuck to it. Cas didn’t sleep. He had never used that pillow. He would never use that pillow.

Dean sat up abruptly, and the world started swimming again. He didn’t care; it was too much, it was all too much—

He knocked into the doorframe as he hurried out of the room. To the kitchen. There was more whiskey in the kitchen. If he drank enough, maybe his head would quiet. 

The door stayed open behind him as he stumbled down the hall.   


* * *

Cas dreamed. 

  
There were tears rolling down his face. His mouth was stretched wide in a smile. This was it. 

Dean’s eyes searched his desperately. “Why does this sound like a goodbye?” 

“Because it is.” 

Dean opened his mouth to protest. 

Cas didn’t let him. 

“I love you.” 

A myriad of expressions played across Dean’s face; disbelief, desperation, denial. 

Cas thought he saw heartbreak. 

“Don’t do this, Cas,” Dean begged. 

_ Don’t do this. Don’t do this. Don’t do this.  _

__

_ What did Dean mean by “this?” _

Before Cas could try and figure out what he meant, there was a dark mass swelling behind Dean, the dungeon door had opened with a slam, and his hand was on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Cas—“ There were tears in Dean’s eyes.

Cas shoved him to the side, out of harm's way. He could do this one last thing. One last time, he could save Dean Winchester.

The Empty enveloped him, and he drifted off. 

_ But what was “this?” _

Cas continued to dream.

* * *

Dean was woken by Sam shaking him roughly. 

  
“Dean? Dean!” 

Dean blinked, still out of it. Everything hurt more than it should. He took in his surroundings. 

He was still at the kitchen table, slumped over uncomfortably, a bottle of whiskey within arms reach. The lights were far too bright, everything was far too loud, and Dean didn’t want to deal with any of it. 

“Jesus, Sammy, let a guy wake up naturally.” 

Sam’s tone was pissed. “Let a guy— you’ve been out for  _ hours.  _ You drank a bottle of whiskey on your own and were starting on your second. I didn’t  _ know _ if you were going to wake up.”

Dean felt a pang of guilt. Sam didn’t deserve this. “‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. Just was thinking about—“ 

He didn’t let himself finish the sentence.

Sam finished it for him. “Cas?”

Dean flinched. 

“Dean—“ Sam broke off, then started talking again, this time more softly. “What happened with Billie? You barely stayed sober when we were up against Chuck, and now that he’s gone, you’re not even trying. Every other time Cas has died, it’s been bad, but never—“

_ Never like this. _

“I told you,” Dean said, fighting to keep the emotion out of his voice. “I don’t want to talk about it. What happened happened. He made a deal, it got cashed in.”

“I want to help, but I can’t if you’re not telling me things,” Sam tried. “And anyway, talking might actually help.”

“And since when are you my therapist?” Dean snapped. 

“Since… I dunno, since you don’t have a therapist? You can’t keep everything bottled up and expect alcohol is going to act as some sort of magic cure.” 

“Watch me.” Dean reached for the bottle across the table.

Sam grabbed his arm. “Look, Dean. Talk to me or not, it’s your choice. But you can’t keep trying to drink yourself into an early grave.”

He could, Dean knew. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. With Jack in charge upstairs, maybe Dean would have a ticket to heaven. And there…. 

At least in heaven, he could see Cas while he replayed his biggest hits.

No, he couldn’t do that. Sam needed him. As much as it hurt, he couldn’t abandon Sam. 

Sam didn’t seem to realize what he had been thinking. He kept talking. “Eileen is coming over later. She’s looking forward to seeing you too. Just….” He trailed off. 

Dean sighed and muttered something about taking a shower. 

Sam nodded. 

Dean stood and made his way slowly towards the door. 

“And Dean?” 

Dean turned to look back at his brother. 

“After Eileen leaves, I’m going to call Rowena. See if she has any ideas for getting Cas out.” 

There was so much hope in Sam’s eyes. Dean wanted to believe him. Believe he could get  _ him _ out. Believe that there was even the slightest possibility that he could wrap his angel in his arms and never let him go, and thread his fingers through  _ his _ hair and kiss  _ him _ , and tell  _ him _ everything that had been left unsaid. 

It came rushing back.

_ “When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned, and it would take me forever.” _

_ Forever  _ wasn’t something you could bring someone back from. 

_ “Fuck that,”  _ Dean wanted to say. He couldn’t. If it didn’t work—

No, it was better to have no hope at all. Better than believing things would be okay when they were never okay. 

Dean left the room, and didn’t bother to respond.

No matter how much it hurt,  _ he _ wasn’t coming back. 

* * *

Dean didn’t make it through the shower. 

The water ran over him, droplets falling at their own pace, on the walls, down his face. He made it just over a minute before it all came rushing back. 

It reminded him too much of the way his cheeks had become riverbanks after  _ he _ had been taken. 

Dean fumbled to turn the water off, barely taking the time to dry himself off with a towel before throwing his clothes back on. He stared at himself in the mirror. 

It didn’t look like he’d had a good night of sleep in weeks; there were defined bags under his eyes and an almost heavy quality to his eyelids. His shoulders seemed to be weighed down too, along with the rest of him. He was paler than he should be. No wonder Sam had been worried. 

Dean couldn’t bring himself to care much. 

* * *

The door to the bunker opened as the morning was slipping into afternoon. 

Sam’s face split into a grin. “Eileen!” 

Eileen smiled at him. “Hello, Sam.” 

“It’s so good to see you,” Sam said, signing clumsily along with his words. 

“Sam! It’s good to see you too,” Eileen said. 

Dean watched them from a distance. Determinedly  _ not _ thinking about how the way they looked at each other reminded him of the way Ca—  _ he _ had looked at him. 

They met at the bottom of the stairs. Sam leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eileen’s forehead. Eileen responded by dragging him down further for a chaste kiss on the lips. 

Dean definitely was  _ not _ thinking about how maybe that could have been  _ him _ and Dean _. _

Not thinking about he would be the one to press a kiss to  _ his _ forehead when he came home, or how  _ he _ would roll his eyes and tell him to kiss him properly. Not thinking about how Dean would tease  _ him _ before complying. Not thinking about what it would feel like to kiss  _ him _ . Not thinking about what could have been. 

Eileen caught sight of him. “Dean!” 

Dean tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Eileen.” 

She pulled him in for a hug. “I’m sorry about Castiel.” 

That was the last thing he wanted to hear, but he nodded when they broke apart. “I am too.” He tried to sign along with what he was saying. 

“Dude,” Sam said, breaking the tension that had fallen over them, “you suck.”

“Shut up, bitch. You’re one to talk,” Dean said. 

“Jerk,” Sam shot back. 

“Sam is doing very well,” Eileen said, rolling her eyes. “You aren’t doing badly either.” 

Sam smirked at him. 

“She’s only saying that because she’s your girlfriend,” Dean said. 

That earned him a set of glares from both Sam and Eileen, but neither of them corrected him. 

“So you said you were hunting a shifter on your way up?” Sam asked.

  
Eileen nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t very good at covering its tracks. Easy hunt.” 

They moved to one of the tables in the library. 

  
Dean tried to follow the conversation, he really did. 

His focus always went back to the empty chair next to him. 

There were a hundred moments that flashed across his mind and they  _ hurt,  _ they fucking  _ hurt.  _

Cas, tied down to the chair, dealing with the effects of one of Rowena’s spells; Cas, pouring tirelessly through volume after volume of old texts; Cas, coming into the library with a glass in hand, refusing to let Dean drink alone; Cas, sitting next to Dean and laughing; Cas, displaying a rare, wide and gummy smile; Cas, just existing; Cas, just alive—

“Dean?” Sam was looking at him expectantly.

Dean startled. “Huh?” 

Sam’s face softened slightly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Peachy.” Dean forced a smile and winked at him. “What were we talking about?”

“We were wondering if maybe you wanted to cook dinner for tonight?” 

“Only if you want to,” Eileen added.

Dean didn’t respond right away. Cooking. That seemed like such an ordinary thing to do. Like something you did while the world kept turning. 

The world was turning, though. It had never stopped. Not just because  _ he _ had sacrificed himself.

So maybe he should. 

“Sure. Don’t think we have much in the fridge, though,” Dean said at last. 

“I ran to the store yesterday,” Sam said, shrugging him off. “I got stuff for burgers.”

Dean nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. The last time he’d made burgers, it had been for Sam, Jack, and  _ him.  _ “That’s good. I’m, uh, I’m gonna go prep those.” Without waiting for Sam or Eileen to say anything, he stood and walked out of the library. 

“Losing Cas has been really hard on him,” he heard Sam say quietly. “Apparently he died saving him. Dean won’t say any more than that. Whatever else happened… I dunno, but he’s barely done anything besides take bottles from the liquor cabinet. This is the first time since Cas… died… that he’s agreed to do something he enjoys.”

Dean didn’t hear Eileen’s murmured response. 

Sam was right, he realized. This was the first time since that day that he’d even considered doing something he had found fun. The only reason he’d even left the bunker was to defeat Chuck. After that, there’d been no reason. There wasn’t anything out there that he wanted. 

Even there at the bunker, there wasn’t anything he wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to music. The idea of washing Baby or taking her for a drive wasn’t appealing. 

The one thing he wanted was something he knew he couldn’t have. 

Dean wasn’t unaware of how fitting that was. 

He’d just have to make due. Try and be happy with the memories. Move on. This was the first step. Do something he had liked to do. 

Dean didn’t want to move on. 

He went to the kitchen anyway and started going through the fridge.

Burgers. Burgers were simple. He could make those pretty quickly. He got to work. 

It was a mindless task, one Dean had done a hundred times. Easy and repetitive. He was halfway through shaping a fourth burger when he realized that Sam had gotten too much meat. There were only three of them now, with Jack acting as God and  _ him _ — Cas, Dean corrected himself. He was moving on, he had to be able to say Cas’ name— gone. 

They were going to have leftovers. It was rare that that happened. That was probably going to change. 

Dean kept shaping the burgers. 

* * *

Dinner was quiet. 

Sam had smiled when Dean had come into the library to let them know that the burgers would be done in the next ten minutes. 

At least he was happy. 

Both he and Eileen had complimented him on the food. Uncharacteristically, Dean had taken the compliments without complaint. After that, the chatter had died down as they dug in. 

There were two burgers left over. Dean stuck them in the back of the fridge and pretended they didn’t exist. 

Sam and Eileen moved to Sam’s bedroom not long after they finished eating. 

“Make sure you keep it down, alright?” Dean said. 

Sam gave him bitchface no. eleven, but it lacked some of its usual venom. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Eileen said. 

“‘Night.” Dean watched the two of them disappear down the hall.

They looked good together. Happy. They were happy. He saw the way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. It was the same way he had looked at Cas, and the same way Cas had looked at him. 

Another string of memories flashed by painfully; every look he and Cas had shared, from the powerful, piercing stare from when they first met, to the tear-filled way their eyes met as the Empty reached out and—

Dean took a breath, and forced the memory away. He glanced at the clock. Almost seven. 

Well, it was five o’clock somewhere. 

Dean headed towards the kitchen. 

Cas’ door was still open. 

Beige blankets rumpled from Dean having laid down there, the photo still facedown on the bed. Everything as his drunken self had left it the night before. 

Dean stepped inside tentatively. He gingerly grabbed the frame off the bed, and without looking at it, put it back on the desk’s corner. He straightened out the blankets.

If he pretended, it was like Cas would be coming home, right to this room. 

_ He isn’t coming back,  _ Dean reminded himself.

Dean backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving it empty. Then, he turned on his heel and set about finding the strongest whiskey he could.

He didn’t drink as much as he would have liked. Only enough to make the world go soft around the edges and make the pain numb a bit. It was still a long ways past what Sam would approve of. 

_ Move on.  _

__

_ Move on.  _

__

_ Move on.  _

That started with doing things he liked, it continued with not getting blackout drunk. 

Dean made to pour himself another glass anyway. 

_ Cas wouldn’t want this,  _ a voice said in the back of his head.  _ He thought better of you. _

__

“He was wrong,” Dean muttered, but he didn’t refill his glass. 

Moving on. Yeah, right. 

He left the bottle out on the kitchen table and made his way to his room. 

As he walked past Sam’s room, he could hear quiet voices. The halls suddenly seemed even more hollow. It nearly suffocated him when he opened the door to his room. 

Two pillows— there were two pillows on his bed, lined up next to each other. One for him and one for  _ him.  _ That had just been a fantasy, though, sharing a bed with  _ him,  _ being able to wake up next to  _ him _ and fall asleep to the sound of  _ his  _ breathing. But if he had just asked, they could have— Cas would have—

Dean struggled to remember how to breathe as he stared at the bed. 

What would Cas have looked like after waking up? Would Dean have pressed a kiss to his forehead? Would that have made him smile? Would they have gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed but woken up tangled in each other? Would Cas have even slept, or just laid there the whole night watching over him? Would he have kissed Dean awake, or vice versa? Would they have been happy? 

Dean knew the answer to that last question. Yes, they would have. Happy wouldn’t begin to cover it. 

He wished he knew the answers to the other ones. 

He’d never know the answers to the other ones.

Dean grabbed the pillow off the left side of the bed and threw it across the room before adjusting the right pillow to the middle of the bed. He laid down, painfully aware of how large the bed was. 

It was a long night. 

Then again, the nights had always been long. 

* * *

Dean stayed in bed just barely long enough that Sam wouldn’t question it. 

Moving on. Dean had to keep moving on.

Yesterday, moving on was cooking. Today—

Suddenly the walls were pressing in on him. Their  _ emptiness _ was suffocating him. 

Dean grabbed his phone and his keys off the bedside table before abruptly leaving the room.

Today he was going to go for a drive.

Baby was still in good condition. Of course she was. She hadn’t been out on the road since they’d driven back to the bunker after Jack snapped everyone back. 

That had been six weeks ago. Only six. 

Which meant it had been just under two months since Cas had died. 

No, he was  _ not _ thinking about that. He was moving on. 

The Impala could probably use a wash. Maybe he’d do that tomorrow. But for now, she would be alright. 

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and shot off a quick text to Sam. 

_ going for a drive. be back later. _

Sam was probably still asleep with Eileen. At least with that, he wouldn’t freak out about Dean being gone. 

Dean opened the driver’s side door and slipped inside. He turned the keys, then took off. 

The open road was familiar. The mindless motions of driving and the way the road seemed to fly out from under him. The sky, horizon just starting to become tinged with pinks and oranges. It grounded him. 

This was okay. Driving was okay. It was good to be back on the road, just him and Baby. He’d done this a hundred times before.

Like he had a hundred times before, Dean flipped on some music. 

_  
Back in black _

__

_ I hit the sack _

__

_ I've been too long, I'm glad to be back _

__

_ Yes, I'm let loose _

__

_ From the noose _

__

_ That's kept me hanging about _

Yeah. This was okay.

Dean pointedly ignored the heavy feeling in his chest that screamed that something was missing. 

  
He drove.

And drove.

And drove.

And drove. 

He stopped for gas once. Pretended that he wasn’t remembering a different Gas ‘n’ Sip.

It was nearing noon when he made it back to the bunker. Sam and Eileen were sitting in the War Room, laughing over something, beers in hand. 

Dean watched them, leaning against the doorframe. 

Neither of them noticed him for a minute or two. He was about to turn and go when Eileen caught sight of him. “You’re back!”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t bring any souvenirs with me, sorry.” 

“That was a long drive,” Sam said. “You good?”

_ No. _

“Yeah, I’m fine. So, what’d I miss?” 

Sam didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. 

Dean had the feeling that he was waiting until Eileen was gone.

It was a few more days before she did leave and Sam had his opening. She was headed East for a potential specter. Dean was sorry to see her go, albeit not as much so as Sam.

“Come back soon, alright? Or maybe I can meet you somewhere,” Sam said. 

Eileen smiled. “I’d like that. I’ll call you when I get there,” she assured him. 

Sam smiled back. “Great! That’s, uh, that’s great.” 

They leaned in and shared a kiss.

Then, Eileen raised a hand in a wave as she headed up the stairs and left the bunker, looking back at Sam one last time before shutting the door behind her.

Dean didn’t even register what was saying until the words were already out. “Marry her.” 

Sam stared at him. “What?” 

“I, uh, I mean,” Dean said, stumbling over his words slightly, “you love her, right? I’m not blind, Sammy. And she— I’m pretty sure— positive, actually, that it’s not one sided.”

“We haven’t even used that word yet. I think it’s a bit early,” Sam said. He paused, then asked, almost hopefully, “You think she loves me?” 

“Yeah. It’s not hard to see, she looks at you like—“

Dean didn’t know how he had planned to finish that sentence.

_ She looks at you like Cas looked at me. _

__

_ She looks at you like I looked at Cas. _

The emptiness in his chest seemed to expand, throbbing painfully. 

Sam noticed how he’d broken off. “Dean, what were—“

“I need a drink,” Dean announced, then turned on his heel. 

“Dean, wait.” Sam followed him, frowning. “You were going to say something about Cas, right?” 

“I need a drink  _ alone,” _ Dean clarified, voice hard. “Drop it, Sam.” 

“Look, whatever—“

Dean whirled around, snapping. “Can you  _ fucking drop it?  _ I can’t deal with this right now!”

“You’re not dealing with it at all, whatever it is,” Sam said irritably. “Ignoring it isn’t helping!” 

“Yeah, well, you grilling me isn’t helping either!” 

  
“I’m not trying to grill you, but we’ve talked about this, you can’t just bottle everything up—“

  
“I can and I will!” 

Sam tried another approach. “If Cas were here—“ 

Fuck, those words hurt. And Sam knew it. 

If  _ he _ were here…

“Well, he’s not!” Dean’s voice shook. “He’s not, and it’s my own goddamn fault, so drop it! I as good as killed him, Sam! He’d be alive if—” 

Why couldn’t Sam just  _ listen?  _ Why couldn’t he see that he wasn’t helping, and just leave Dean the fuck alone? Why did he keep bringing Cas up, as though that would bring him back and fix things? _Nothing_ could fix things.

“We can bring him back,” Sam insisted. “I told you, we can call Rowena—“

“Rowena can’t help. You know why?”

  
Sam didn’t answer. 

“Because when he— when he  _ died,  _ it was final.” The words felt final coming out of Dean’s mouth, and he hated it. “He can’t come back!” 

“Since when has that ever stopped us?” 

__

“Since now.”

This time when he left, Sam didn’t follow. 

* * *

With only a bottle of Jack for company, Dean locked himself in his room. He didn’t bother bringing a glass with him. 

Dean took a swig from the bottle, ignoring how the alcohol burned his throat.

“I miss you,” he whispered to the empty room. “I miss you so fucking much it hurts, and I wish you would come home so—“ Dean took a breath, pointedly ignoring the way his eyes were growing damp. “—so I could tell you that I— goddammit.”

Words didn’t work. Words didn’t convey the absence in Dean’s chest or how he physically ached when he remembered Cas wasn’t there. They didn’t come out how they were supposed to if they came out at all.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just come home, man. I— I need you. Dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do without you. Don’t want to do anything without you. And— and I can’t do anything without you, Cas. So please. Come— come home.”

He waited, as though he would hear the flap of angel’s wings behind him or see the door open to reveal a familiar trench-coated figure. 

Who was he kidding? Cas was  _ gone. He _ was  _ dead. _ Praying wasn’t any good. It wasn’t like Cas could hear him. 

Dean took another long drink. 

* * *

__

_ “I miss you. I miss you so fucking much it hurts, and I wish you would come home so— so I could tell you that I— goddammit. Just come home, man. I— I need you. Dunno what the hell I’m supposed to do without you. Don’t want to do anything without you. And— and I can’t do anything without you, Cas. So please. Come— come home.” _

The words echoed across the Empty. 

_ I miss you _

__

_ So I could tell you that I _

__

_ Just come home _

__

_ I need you _

__

_ Can’t do anything without you _

__

_ Please _

_   
Come home _

__

_ I miss you _

__

_ So I could tell you that I _

__

_ Just come home _

The ground rippled. 

Cas woke.

* * *

He had passed out at some point, empty bottle still in hand. 

The lights were too bright when he opened his eyes and everything throbbed. His shoulder, in particular. He didn’t pay it much attention.

Moving on. He was moving on. 

What did people do when the world was still spinning? 

People cooked. They went on drives. They ate. They watched bad tv. They took showers. Went on dates. Hung out with friends. 

Dean didn’t think he could stomach anything. Driving didn’t sound appealing. Neither did Dr. Sexy. Even the idea of seeing people— dates or friends— made him feel sick. 

Showers. When the world was still spinning, people took showers.

Dean stumbled towards the bathroom. 

He didn’t get much farther than turning on the water and pulling off his shirt. Looking in the mirror, Dean did a double take, hit by deja vu.

_ An old gas station, his reflection staring back at him, eying a burn on his shoulder; blood, seeping through his jacket, where moments before there had been a hand laid there— _

Dean touched it gingerly.

There, on his left shoulder, freshly as though he had just been pulled out of hell, was a burn in the shape of a handprint. 

Cas’ handprint. 


	2. the absence of despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented, left kudos, or interacted in some way with this story! Hearing that you guys have liked it so far makes me smile :)  
> Don’t think there are any TWs for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

There was a scream from the next room over, followed by laughter. 

Castiel didn’t bother turning towards the sound. This had been happening for hours. He was no stranger to Alistair’s screams and taunts. 

He wished they would stop. 

All they wanted was information. Once they had it, Alistair could be taken care of, and the garrison would know what demon to go after. If they killed the killer, they would stop being killed. 

If anyone had asked why he wanted it to be over, that would have been his answer.

Castiel was starting to think that wasn’t the case. Not entirely. 

He remembered the siege of Hell. He remembered all the twisted and corrupted souls. He remembered the heat and the onslaught of demons. 

Most clearly, he remembered seeing Dean Winchester’s soul.

It was bright and miraculously nearly unblemished despite the decades that had passed. While the other souls were hot with rage and fury, Dean’s was simply warm and enveloping. 

Castiel had grabbed him, and Dean had latched on. 

Even after seeing Dean’s soul— after remaking him, fusing Dean back together with his grace— he was still an enigma. He used strange references Castiel didn’t understand, yet somehow he made sense. He claimed angels were dicks, but didn’t seem to mind Castiel’s company. He always did the opposite of what he was told, unless he didn’t. 

Dean was unpredictable and hard to read. That was what the others in the garrison said. 

Yes, Dean was unpredictable. Yet Castiel had never had much trouble reading him. In his own, stubborn, human way, Dean made sense. 

When Uriel had told Dean what they needed him to do, Dean had pretended to be angry. He was, to some extent, angry. But behind that, he was afraid. Uriel couldn’t see it. He just chalked up Dean’s lack of willingness to participate as him being a “self-glorifying mud monkey.”   
  


Despite not having been able to speak with Dean for long, Castiel knew that it was all a front. Dean didn’t want to re-become what he had been in Hell. He was afraid of what he might do, and afraid of what might change. He was afraid of slipping back into that pit.   


“You ask me to open that door and walk through it,” Dean had said, “you will not like what walks back out.”

_ “I would pull you out again, Dean,”  _ Castiel wanted to say.  _ “If you went too far, I would find you.” _

Instead, he told Dean, “For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” And it was true. He wished desperately that Dean didn’t have to do this. 

Castiel suspected that that was why he wanted Alistair to give in. So that Dean didn’t have to do this. 

Maybe his superiors were right; maybe he was getting too close to the humans in his charge, Dean specifically. 

It was a moment before Castiel realized his mistake. 

Yes, his superiors were right. They were always right, there was no “maybe.”

Castiel glanced upwards towards a light suspended from the warehouse ceiling. It swung back and forth, almost imperceptibly. 

There was another shout from the other room, but this one was different. 

This one was Dean’s. 

The lightbulb above exploded in a flash of sparks. Glass rained down as Castiel moved quickly towards the door to the other room. He threw open the door and—

An onslaught of memories hit him; sitting in the backseat of a Chevy Impala, driving down an open road while the Winchester brothers argued over the music; Dean smiling at him, bathed in a red glow from a “no vacancy” sign outside a motel; the night sky full of falling angels; Jack sitting at a table, box of cereal in hand; Dean passing him a mixtape, and Sam later explaining why; Dean, raking leaves; Billie, dragging her scythe against the tiled walls while Dean and Castiel ran; Castiel, hand wet with blood as he painted a sigil; Dean, begging him not to do  _ this. _

It hit Cas; this had already happened. This had happened over a decade ago,  _ this wasn’t real.  _

This also wasn’t how it was supposed to have played out. 

Not-Dean was curled upon himself against the wall, knife buried in his stomach. Blood pooled from his lips, his jacket was stained red with it, and his eyes flicked towards Cas. 

“Your— fault,” Dean managed bitterly before going limp.

For a moment, Cas forgot that it wasn’t real. 

_ Dean wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t supposed to die, he deserved to live, this was Cas’ fault, he was supposed to take care of Dean— _

__

Cas rushed towards Dean when there was a dry laugh to his right. He turned. 

Alistair was grinning cruelly. “Cas, Cas, Cas. Are we having fun yet?” 

“I thought you were dead,” Cas said. “You shouldn’t be awake.”

“I can’t die,” Alistair said.

Cas put the pieces together. “You’re not him. You’re the Empty.”

“Bingo.”

Something wasn’t right. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” 

“Oh, I am,” the Empty said. 

“So then why aren’t you?” 

“Because you’re awake.” the Empty didn’t look happy about that. “So I would greatly appreciate it if you went to sleep.” 

If Cas was awake… did that mean…? 

“You made a deal,” the Empty reminded him. 

“My deal was to come with you when I experienced a moment of true happiness,” Cas said. “It was never specified what would happen after that should I wake up.” 

The Empty appeared mere inches from Cas’ face. “Sleep.”

“No,” Cas said. 

“I thought you were at peace with your decision.”

“I am,” Cas said, which was true. He had come to terms with this burden a long time ago. He had known the consequences. That didn’t mean that he had wanted to die, though. 

And now, he was awake. Cas was awake, which meant someone was looking for him. 

There was a flicker of hope in his chest. Maybe—

The Empty snarled at him. “Think long and hard about this, Castiel. I know what you’re assuming. But did you ever think that maybe it’s not him? Not your precious Dean Winchester? Did you ever think maybe he never wants to see you again?”

When he had been asleep, Cas had been plagued by the moment after he had said “I love you.” Dean’s face had almost imperceptibly softened, and he had replied, “Don’t do this,” desperate. Cas wondered what “this” was.  _ Don’t leave? Don’t love me? Both? Neither? _

The Empty had a point. 

Dean didn’t love him. Not like that. He called Cas family. And after what Cas had confessed…. 

But there had been a voice. That was what had woken him up; there had been a voice.  _ Dean’s voice,  _ he was almost positive. Distorted and not quite right, but Cas was sure it was Dean’s. Desperate and lost and hurt and  _ Dean’s.  _ And a few months ago, in Purgatory, Dean had prayed to him, and there had been something he hadn’t said, but the want and desire and affection and something that  _ felt  _ like love had been pouring off him in waves. Dean hadn’t ever finished what he was going to say. Then after Cas had said what he had intended as his final goodbye, the same feeling had been radiating from Dean, mixed in with despair, and Dean had opened his mouth to say something. Something Cas had never gotten to hear. 

So maybe, just maybe….

“I have faith,” Cas told the Empty. 

“Are you sure?” 

Cas’ answer left no room for doubt. “Yes.” 

The Empty scowled. “Last chance. Sleep, or I’ll make your existence a living hell.” 

Cas looked it in the eye. “In the words of a good friend… ‘bite me.’”

The warehouse dissolved into black sludge, melting into the floor, Alistair and Dean’s corpse along with it. 

Cas was surrounded by an abyss of nothing for a moment before dark shapes began to form a scene around him. 

“You and I are going to have so much fun,” the Empty said, voice resonating. “So. Much. Fun.”

* * *

Dean stared. 

That— that was—

It should have been impossible. Dean fumbled to find an explanation. 

_ Cas,  _ his brain supplied.  _ Cas did this. _

No, that was impossible. This had to be a hallucination or something.

The handprint was splayed across his left shoulder. It was raw and blistering, and stood out starkly against the rest of his skin. 

Dean lifted his hand to touch the raised skin lightly, wincing at the sting. 

Not a hallucination. This was real. 

Which meant—

“Cas?” 

There was no response.

Dean tried not to feel bitter. Of course not. Who was he kidding? Cas was gone. There had to be something else to explain this. 

_ What if there’s no response because he can’t reach you? _ a small voice in the back of Dean’s mind prodded.  _ Maybe you need to save him. _

He wasn’t going to do this to himself. He couldn’t give himself hope, only to have it brutally torn away. He would break.

__

_ “When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned, and it would take me forever,” _ Cas had said. 

Forever. 

_ Forever. _

But—

Dean looked back to the handprint. 

What if this meant that Cas was out there? What if it meant forever wasn’t  _ forever? _

His heart was thudding painfully in his chest. 

The one thing he wanted. Maybe— just maybe— it was something he could have.

It was too late now. 

Dean had hope.

He tore out of the bathroom, running water forgotten.  _ “Sam? Sam!”  _

Sam turned the corner into the hallway and skidded to stop. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“Get Rowena on the phone,” Dean told him sharply.

“I thought you—“ Sam froze. “Is that—?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice broke. “Sammy, I think— I think maybe—“ 

“Are you sure it’s… you know… the real thing? Not someone screwing with you like Lucifer did?” Sam sounded almost hesitant. 

Dean stopped. Was it? What if it was?

No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t know how, but he could  _ tell, _ somehow he  _ knew,  _ this was from Cas,  _ his _ Cas. There was something about the way it sat on his shoulder, familiar and soothing and somehow purely Castiel that couldn’t be faked. 

“It’s real,” Dean said. 

Sam nodded. “Meet you in the library, three minutes.” Without another word, he turned and ran back the way he had come from. 

Dean didn’t stop for anything, he just went for the library, thoughts repeating like a broken record. 

_ Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas— _

Was he alive? Was he okay? Something must have happened to trigger this, something he or Cas had done. Or maybe Jack? 

No, Jack had been very clear about being hands off. It couldn’t have been Jack. So then—

It hit Dean out of nowhere as he threw himself into one of the library chairs. Flashes of last night danced across his memory: way too much whiskey, self-hatred and regret, and Dean begging— praying— for Cas. Of course. 

_ Dean had prayed.  _

“ _ I will always come when you call,”  _ Cas had said a long time ago. 

Dean should have believed him. He should have believed him, then this would have happened weeks ago, and maybe Cas would already be out, maybe—

Sam hurried into the room, phone in hand, already dialing Rowena’s number. 

They waited as the phone rang. 

Five seconds passed, then ten, and Dean wished she would pick up her fucking phone, this was important, goddammit—

After about fifteen seconds, the phone stopped ringing. 

“Hello, Samuel.” 

“Hey, Rowena. How are things?” 

“Oh, Hell is fine. Same old, same old. I’ve been working on—“

They didn’t have time for this. 

“We need your help,” Dean interrupted. 

Rowena sighed. “Of course you do. You Winchesters never call to be social. The least you could do is indulge me with small talk.” 

Dean glared at the phone. 

“Fine. What is it that you want?” 

“Cas is dead,” Sam said. 

Dean flinched at the way he said it; certain and final.  _ Gone,  _ Cas wasn’t dead, he was just  _ gone.  _ They could get him back.

“He’s in the Empty because he made some sort of deal.” 

“Ah. What kind of deal?” 

Sam looked pointedly at Dean.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. That deal had cost everything. “Important part was that he said he couldn’t come back from it. But then I— uh, I prayed to him last night.” He refused to look at Sam. “Woke up with his handprint on my shoulder. Looks just like it did when we met.”

“So… you want me to help drag your boyfriend out of the Empty?” Rowena said. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean said, trying to ignore the way the correction stung. Cas wasn’t Dean’s boyfriend. But he could have been. If they’d pulled their heads out of their asses sooner, they could have been. 

Maybe if they pulled this off, if they got Cas out, he could be.

Rowena hummed thoughtfully. It was a few moments before she suggested, “Have you tried pulling the dad card? Word down here is that Jack’s the new man upstairs. I’m sure he could pull some strings.”

“He’s hands off,” Dean said tightly. 

“Have you tried asking?”

The silence was enough of an answer for her. 

“Talk to him, boys,” she reprimanded. “If he can’t do it, give me a call. Come visit, if you’d like. Samuel, I’ve been meaning to show you what I’ve done with the place since you were last here.” Rowena paused. “Speaking of that… Dean, did you and your angel get that sorted out? Like I told you to?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean swallowed. “Yeah, we… we figured it out.” He thought they had. And then Cas dropped those three words and was gone before Dean could say anything back, 

“Really.” Rowena sounded almost skeptical. 

“Things were okay, and then before he….” Dean couldn’t say it. “Turns out we were both on a different page but didn’t realize it.” Until it was too late. 

No, not too late. He was going to get Cas back. He was going to fix this.

“I told you two to fix it,” Rowena said, voice clipped, “It doesn’t sound like you did if you were ‘both on a different page.’”

“I don’t need your help with my lo—“ Dean stopped. 

_ I don’t need your help with my love life. _

“— with my friendships,” he said instead. 

“Well, you’ve gotten it anyway. Is that all, boys? I have a meeting in a few minutes.” 

“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks, Rowena,” Sam said. 

“Of course, Samuel. Happy to help my favorite hunters. Goodbye, boys.” There was a click as she hung up the phone. 

They were quiet for a moment. 

“So,” Sam said. 

“Guess we’re praying to Jack,” Dean said. “Wonder if he’ll answer.” 

Sam gave him a look. “Just because he’s ‘God’ now doesn’t mean he’s going to pretend we don’t exist. He’s family.” 

Dean didn’t answer. Just because Jack was family to them didn’t mean they were family to him. 

“Do you want to pray to him or should I?” Sam asked. 

Dean blinked. “We’re doing this now?” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “I figured you’d want to, since you’re suddenly desperate to get Cas back.” 

He wasn’t “suddenly desperate to get Cas back.” He’d been desperate since the Empty had swelled out from the dungeon wall and closed around Cas. The only difference was that now he had hope. 

Dean didn’t bother to correct him. It wasn’t like Sam would get it. 

“Go ahead,” he said. “Kid likes you better, anyway.” 

Sam sighed but didn’t argue. “Alright. Hey, Jack. It’s Sam. Dean and I are just wondering if you’ve got a moment. If you do, pop in. If not… well, come whenever. The bunker is your home too, so if you come, we’ll make time. Yeah.” 

They waited. 

Nothing. 

Dean couldn’t help his disappointment. 

“Well,” he said bitterly, “that went well. Next time we see Rowena, remind me to tell her her advice sucks.”

“He might be busy,” Sam said. “Jack‘ll get back to us.”

Dean didn’t respond, opting instead to move towards one of the bookshelves. It was fine. If Jack and Rowena weren’t going to help, and Sam was hung up on waiting for them, he’d find a solution himself. 

Dean scanned the shelves. There had to be something about the Empty or angelic resurrection. There had to be. At random, he grabbed a few thick volumes. 

Sam watched him throw the books down onto the library table. 

Dean grabbed the one off the top of the stack and cracked it open. 

“I’ll get some paper. And bring you a shirt,” Sam offered, then turned to go. 

_ Whilst those with a human soul depart after death to either Heaven or Hell, non-humans spend their eternity in Purgatory (monsters, such as vampires, werewolves, banshees, etc.) or a vast region with no known name seeing as it is simply the absence of everything (demons and angels). There is little known about the former of these realms…. _

There had to be something. 

* * *

Six hours. 

That was how long it took Dean to get through the first book. 

He found, as Cas would have said if he had been there, “nothing of import.” 

It was the same case with the second and third books. 

“Fuck,” Dean said, slamming the third one shut. Then repeated himself.  _ “Fuck.” _

He should have found something by now, right? These were the Men of Letters, they knew nearly everything. They had records going back thousands of years. Entire archives of obscure information. So why hadn’t he found anything yet?

Dean buried his head in his hands with a sigh. “Find anything?”

Sam had been reading diligently as well, but he hadn’t said anything for several hours. He cleared his throat. “Uh, no. Not yet.”

Dean didn’t respond. 

“We’ll find something.” Sam looked up from his book. “But maybe… you should get some sleep. We’ve been at this all day.”

“No.” Dean grabbed the next book of his stack. “Gotta find something first.” 

“Dean,” Sam started, “you shouldn’t—“

“You want to sleep, go ahead. I’m staying,” Dean snapped, turning his attention to the book. 

“You aren’t going to get anywhere if you can barely keep your eyes open,” Sam reasoned.

Dean forcefully ignored how the words on the page were beginning to swim. They weren’t indecipherable; he could keep going. 

“Four hours,” Sam said. “That’s all. Take four hours, then come back. You’ve been up for almost a full day.” 

_ Resurrection is a delicate process that only the most advanced spell-casters should attempt. The only known cases of successful resurrection done by one other than a spell-caster have been few and far between. On rare occasions, angels have intervened and pulled souls from Hell. More often, supernatural resurrection is done through dealings with demons and— _

“That’s it,” Dean breathed. 

“Huh?” 

Dean stood hurriedly. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Dean, what—“

Dean was already gone. He tore through the bunker to his room and riffled through his desk until he found what he was looking for; a small, pocket-sized picture of him, then grabbed his keys off the nightstand and ran for the garage. 

Less than a minute later, the Impala was on the road, driving too fast to be mistaken for the speed limit. During the day, Dean would have never gotten away with it, but at nearly three in the morning, the roads were practically deserted. It was still too slow. 

The nearest crossroads was about fifteen minutes away. Ignoring the speed limit, Dean could be there in eight. 

Ten minutes. 

He’d see Cas in ten minutes. 

In ten minutes, he’d be able to hold his angel in his arms and press his lips to Cas’ and tell him that it wasn’t one sided, it had never been one sided, and finally say it. 

_ I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you— _

Dean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

He didn’t answer. 

He didn’t care if Sam liked it or not, he was getting Cas back, regardless of the consequences. 

The minutes ticked by and the road flew past until Dean was slamming the breaks as he reached the crossroads.

He scrambled outside and ran to the back of the car. Throwing open the trunk, he riffled through its contents until he found what he was looking for. 

Dean threw the picture of himself inside the box, then dropped to his knees and started digging. He didn’t think about how there was a rock stuck under his nail that was pressing painfully into his skin or how his phone was vibrating with another call from his brother. Didn’t think about the rain that had started to fall. 

He was getting Cas back. 

Dean shoved the box into the hole and covered it back up. He looked around expectantly, desperately. “Come on, you sonofabitch.”

“Not a nice way to treat your dealer, is it?” 

Dean whirled around. 

Illuminated by the Impala’s headlights, the demon stood smirking at him, eyes flashing red. She was possessing a teenager from what Dean could tell— short, jet black hair, ripped jeans, a letterman jacket covered in pins— probably not even a legal adult yet. He couldn’t find it within himself to care. 

“I need you to bring someone back from the dead,” Dean said. 

“Castiel?” the demon asked. She raised her eyebrows. “Please. Everyone knows you two are gay as hell for each other.” 

Dean ignored the jab. “Ten years, you get my soul. All you have to do is bring Cas back.”

The demon shook her head, coming closer. “Dean Winchester thinks he gets ten years?”

“Five.”

The demon didn’t respond. 

“Four.”

“For you? Six months if you’re lucky.” 

Dean didn’t think. “Fine. Just bring him back.” 

The demon surveyed him for a moment before laughing. “Oh, Winchester. He’s got you whipped. What a sight to see.”

“Do it,” Dean demanded. 

“I wish,” the demon said. “Being the one to get you for good? Nothing would make me happier. But us demons? We can’t access the Empty until we die. Castiel? He’s gone for good.”

Dean shook his head. No. No, Cas was coming back, he had to come back, Dean was going to get him back—

“Condolences,” the demon said. “Pleasure doing business with you.” With that, she vanished. 

“No. No, nononono—  _ son of a bitch!” _

Dean sank to the ground and tried to convince himself that his wet face was only because of the rain.

* * *

When Sam found him, it was with his back against the Impala, collapsed into himself. He was gripping his shoulder tightly with the opposite hand 

“I know you miss him,” Sam said, “but what were you  _ thinking? _ You can’t just sell your soul.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean fought to keep his voice from cracking. “Didn’t work. Demons can’t get anyone out of the Empty.” 

Sam didn’t respond to that, just offered a hand to Dean. “Come on. Let’s go home.” 

Dean thought vaguely as he got into the Impala that he’d have to clean her tomorrow. 

He wouldn’t clean her tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Not until Cas came back. 

If Cas came back. 

The hope that had been fueling him since he saw the handprint was ceasing as quickly as it had come.

He had been stupid— so incredibly stupid— to think they could get  _ him _ back. Who was he kidding?  _ He _ wasn’t coming back. Dean was a dumbass.

_ “I prefer the word ‘trusting.’ Less dumb, less ass.” _

Dean forced  _ his _ voice from his head.

But  _ he  _ had come back before, hadn’t he? Without intervention from a demon? Jack had done it, Chuck had done it, so it was possible.

Chuck was powerless and mortal, though, and no one had heard from Jack since he had beamed up to heaven. Not to mention, Jack had been clear about being hands off. Based on the lack of communication, Dean figured the kid meant in every way.

Dean drove. 

When he got back to the bunker, he didn’t even argue when Sam herded him towards his room. 

The empty space on his bed taunted him, and it took a long time to fall asleep. 

* * *

Sam woke him the next morning.

“You’d better have booze,” Dean grumbled.

Sam’s eyes were strangely bright. “I’ve got something better than that.” 

It took a moment for Dean to process. 

“I think I found something,” Sam said.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really bad at replying to comments, but if anyone wants to find me, I’m on tumblr [here.](https://interrogatethecat.tumblr.com/)


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